


The Great Right Of An Excessive Wrong

by GMTH



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Infidelity, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-31
Updated: 2011-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GMTH/pseuds/GMTH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny loves Harry. She always will. But she loved Bill first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Right Of An Excessive Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fluffyllama (Llama)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/gifts).



> Written for the 2010 Smutty Claus fest on LJ for Fluffyllama, one of the only people in fandom who could get me to write this pairing. AU-ish in a few spots, though I won't specify where since doing so would be a spoiler. Suffice it to say, if you see things that don't quite match canon, that would be where. Many thanks to Amanuensis for being my wonderful beta, and to R-becca for another year of this awesome fest.

Ginny loves Harry.

She loves him from the moment she first hears his name. When she's a little girl, Fred and George sneak into her room on rainy nights to tell her scary stories about He Who Must Not Be Named. The three of them sit cross-legged on her bed with the blankets pulled over their heads, and the twins pitch their voices low and make lots of sudden movements in her direction when the lightning flashes. She's so happy to have their undivided attention she clutches her stuffed kneazle tight to her chest and stuffs one threadbare ear in her mouth to stifle her feigned squeals of terror, and they all pretend they don't know it's just a game. After Mum comes in to shoo the twins back to their own room, Ginny watches the shadows on the ceiling and thinks about the brave little boy whose parents had died to protect him, wondering where he is and what he's doing that very moment, and how much he remembers about that night.

The first time she sees him at King's Cross, it's like seeing Santa Claus. He really exists! And he's no more than an arm's length away! She only catches a glimpse of him, and doesn't realize until later what she's seen, but it's enough; her imagination is on fire. She chatters happily about nothing but Harry Potter this and Harry Potter that at dinner for the next few nights, going on and on until Dad gently suggests maybe it's time to talk about something else. After that she keeps it mostly to herself, but her thoughts never stray too far away.

When she finds out Harry and Ron are friends, she is beside herself with glee.

That Christmas, when Bill comes home from wherever he's been hunting up treasure for Gringotts, Ginny is bubbling over with excitement. He's home so rarely they are practically strangers to one another, but he is her favorite brother nonetheless. He's the only one of the boys who is never mean or cold to her, the only one who ever really seems interested in what she had to say. After Christmas dinner is over, they stand side by side at the sink to wash the dishes together so Mum can have a break, and Bill listens patiently as Ginny catches him up on all the family news.

"And guess what?" she says, propping an unevenly dried pot in the dish rack. She's saved the most exciting news for last. "Guess who I saw when we took the boys to the Hogwarts Express?"

Bill pretends to be thinking it over as he flicks his wand, swiping a soapy sponge across one of Mum's best plates. "Dumbledore," he says at last.

"Nope."

"Hmmm. The Minister for Magic?"

She rolls her eyes as he rinses the dish and places it directly in the rack. "What would _he_ be doing at King's Cross?"

"Okay, then. I give up. Who did you see?"

" _Harry Potter,_ " Ginny says breathlessly, beaming up at him. "Can you believe it?"

Bill gives an appreciative whistle through his teeth and reaches through the thick layer of suds to yank the drain cover off. "Very cool, squirt," he says. "Did you talk to him?"

"No," Ginny replies with a twinge of regret, but then brightens again immediately. "But Mum did. And she said he was very polite. He was lost and didn't know how to get on platform nine-and-three-quarters, and we helped." Bill leans back against the sink and pulls the damp dish towel out of Ginny's hands to dry himself off. He is very tall, nearly twice Ginny's height, and she has to crane her neck to look him in the eye. "Can you imagine not knowing how to get on the platform?" she says. "But he had an owl with him and a great big trunk, and Fred and George helped him put his things on the train."

"Yeah? Was he cute?"

Bill is smiling down at her with a glint in his eye that says he's taking the mickey, but she feels suddenly shy as she hadn't when she'd discussed the encounter with her parents. She twitches one shoulder in a little shrug. "I guess," she says noncommittally.

He gives her a playful tug on the plait Mum had done up special for the holiday. "Aww, and here I thought I was your boyfriend," he says, flipping the heavy plait over her shoulder and flicking it up and down a few times.

"Stop it," she says, ducking away and batting at his hand, and he stops and grins an apology. His whole face gets involved when he smiles like that, and something clicks inside her at the sight of it. Something confusing and a little scary, but also wonderful and tremendously exciting. She doesn't know what it means and won't fully understand it until she's quite a bit older, but this is the moment she first acknowledges its existence.

She loves Harry. She always will.

But she loved Bill first.

***

Everyone at the Burrow whispers their way through that summer after Dumbledore dies. Bill is installed in his bedroom after leaving the Hogwarts hospital wing, and other than the occasional trip to the loo he barely leaves it for weeks. The rest of the family huddles together in the kitchen and sitting room, speaking only when necessary and then in such low tones they have to lean in close to hear one another. It's ridiculous. Bill's bedroom is far enough away he couldn't hear them even if they shouted at one another, and he's so wrapped up in his own misery he probably isn't paying attention to what goes on downstairs anyway.

It drives Ginny mad. She wants to scream. She wants to break things. She wants to beat her fists on the wall and yell at the top of her lungs with the injustice of Bill's injuries, of Harry breaking up with her, of Dumbledore's death. Mum drifts around the house, her face pinched with worry and pale with the stress of getting ready for the wedding, and out of respect for her Ginny forces herself to swallows her anger. It's bitter, and it hurts going down, but there's nothing else to be done about it.

She takes the trays of food Mum prepares up to Bill every morning, and every evening when she returns to collect them the food has barely been touched. Whenever she enters the room, he always turns his head so she can't see his face. One afternoon, she sets the tray down and accidentally brushes his arm as she turns around, and he grabs her hand and gives it a squeeze. He doesn't speak. He won't look at her. She strokes his hair gently with her free hand, brushing a few strands out of his eyes.

"I know," she says.

The next day he dangles his hand over the arm of his chair, and she nudges it with her knee as she goes by. The day after that, he reaches out. She takes his hand and stands there holding it for a long time, looking out the window, and when he finally releases her it's to grab a piece of toast from the tray.

After dinner that night, the house is nearly deserted. Mum goes off to meet Fleur and finish up some work at Shell Cottage, and Dad takes Ron to Diagon Alley to help the twins in the joke shop. Ginny sits on her bed with an open book in her lap, but she doesn't see the words. Harry's so far away, much farther than the actual distance between them. She's tired of feeling so empty.

Bill's room is dark when she cracks open the door. She can see the silhouette of his head on the pillow. He jolts awake when she slides under the sheet and curls up beside him. His face is pale as she studies it in the moonlight, the scars standing out as darker tracks. He tries to turn his head away, but she stills it with one hand on the side of his face. Slowly, gently, she traces one of the scars with the tip of her finger, the broad, deep one that runs from just under his left eye, across his nose, and down the length of his right cheek. It seems to take forever to reach the far end of it. She sketches two of the glowing furrows on her second pass, her fingers in a V as they graze his skin, and on the third she realizes the skin beneath her fingers is wet. She's not sure if they're Bill's tears or hers. She can taste their salt on his lips when she kisses him. He pulls her close against his chest, arms warm and solid across her back, and washes away the salty bite of their tears with a sweep of his tongue through her lips.

***

They cry together again at Fred's funeral. She stands at the graveside holding Harry's hand on one side and Bill's on the other. They're all crying, but it's a horrible, silent kind of mourning. No wails of grief. Not even from George. Not even from Mum, who is actually holding herself together pretty well, given the circumstances.

Ginny squeezes their hands – first Bill's, then Harry's – and they both squeeze back, but when all the words have been spoken and the funeral is finally over, Bill is the one she turns to first. They hug each other tightly while Harry and Fleur look on. Harry scuffs his toe in the upturned earth and pats her awkwardly on the back. Ginny knows he's hurting too, racked with guilt and somehow convinced it's his fault Fred is dead. She loves him for being there with her, but he can't possibly understand how deep it goes. He didn't grow up with the sound of Fred's laughter, the sight of his devious grin. He has no memories of eating cold soup for dinner night after night because the twins made the family laugh too much to eat it while it was hot. He isn't really a Weasley.

Bill and Ginny remember.

***

"Gin!"

Bill yanks the door open and Ginny hurries inside, a cloud of snowflakes swirling around her shoulders. She drops her bag on the floor and shrugs out of her cloak. Her hair is dotted with flecks of snow where the hood had slipped off her head after she apparated.

"What are you doing here?" he says, leaning forward to buss her cheek.

She shakes her head and a spray of cold water goes in all directions. "Mum told me Fleur took the baby to her parents for a few weeks," she says. "I thought you might like some company."

He smiles. "Sure, I'd love it," he says. "But where's Harry? Won't he miss you?"

"On assignment." Ginny sighs, pushing aside a pile of _Daily Prophet_ s, days old post, and dirty socks and plopping down into the kitchen chair that's revealed underneath. "He's been out for two weeks already. Last owl I got from him said it'll be at least another week. He'll let me know when he's coming home." She leans her elbow on the table and then jerks it away again. The table is coated with something sticky. "God, Bill," she says, looking around the kitchen. Her nostrils twitch with the smell. "This place is disgusting."

"Yeah, I know." Bill tries to look abashed but fails. Grabbing up his coffee cup, he leans back against the kitchen counter. "I tend to live very simply when Fleur isn't around."

She picks up a dirty spoon and drops it into a bowl of something congealed. "I can see that."

She's hungry, but there's no way she'll be able to eat surrounded by such a mess. Bill grumbles lightheartedly for a while but she finally wears him down, and he tackles the clutter while she digs in the cabinets for something to make a meal. They talk easily about nothing in particular, which is good because Ginny is having trouble concentrating on the conversation. She wonders if Bill feels the same prickle of anticipation she does. It's the kind of nervous energy she always gets in the hours leading up to a Quidditch match, not quite an adrenaline rush but enough to keep her senses on high alert.

It starts at dinner. Ginny fishes a few candles out of the back of one of the kitchen drawers and lights them with her wand, setting them afloat above the table as if they were in the Great Hall. The meal is simple, roasted chicken and tinned pears washed down with a bottle of Fleur's French wine, but it's tasty and there's plenty to go around. The conversation trails off after a while, but the silence it leaves behind isn't an uncomfortable one. On the contrary. Ginny puts her fork down and watches Bill eat; when he's finished he sits back in his chair with a contented sigh. He looks back at her. His eyes are dark pools in the candlelight.

The next thing she knows, she's in his lap and her tongue is in his mouth. He tastes bitter, like the wine, but his hands are on her breasts and she can feel his cock getting hard where the V of her legs presses against his pelvis, and that is sweet. They've been building up to this for years, nearly as long as she can remember. She knows now it had been pointless to wonder if this is what would happen if she came to visit. No other outcome had ever been possible.

This isn't going to work. Not here. And certainly not fully dressed the way they are. He's stroking her nipples through her shirt and it's a wrench to pull away from the delicious feel of it, but somehow she manages to get to her feet, to pull him to his feet. To her relief the bedroom is fairly clean, though the bedclothes are somewhat rumpled, one corner of the top sheet pulled free of the mattress. But at this point she wouldn't care if the mattress were covered with feathers, or even a burlap sack.

The sheets are cool from their exposure to the cold air, but her naked skin barely has time to react before Bill is there beside her, pulling her close against him and swishing the blanket on top of them both. They're on their sides with their bellies pressed together, his erection trapped between them. He grabs her leg and slings it over his hip so she can feel the heat of it where it rests on her bottom thigh. Only an inch or so separates them now; one small move by either of them and everything will change.

His mouth is on her breast, his tongue flicking roughly against her nipple as his fingers move between her legs. Her muscles jerk involuntarily when he finds her clit and circles it with the tips of his fingers, pressing them inside her every few strokes, opening her up. It's almost embarrassing the way her leg is moving against him as the sensations intensify, like she's under the influence of a twitching spell or a muscle relaxing potion gone wrong. She can't control it, and before long she decides it's easier to just give up trying.

She comes hard, quickly, with a stuttered groan. He swallows it with a kiss, sliding his fingers in deep one more time to feel the spasms he's provoked. When they pass, he pulls free and grips the fleshy underside of her thigh with his slippery fingers, shifting it higher on his hip. A single push and he's inside her, and they're grinding against one another, breath coming in desperate gasps. He moans with each thrust, a grunt in the back of his throat as he cups her breast, squeezing the swell of it and rubbing the nipple with his roughened palm. She shudders her way through a second orgasm, gripping his shoulder tightly, and when it's over he rolls her onto her back and pushes in deep, as deep as he can go, moving fast. She can see his eyes now, the look on his face as he fucks her, his little sister, so forbidden. So wrong it doubles back on itself and becomes right again. She can tell he's thinking it, too. His whole body tenses with his climax, every muscle straining, eyes screwed shut and mouth open in a euphoric O.

Later, much later, she awakens to feel his erection pressing into the small of her back. This time he's flat on his back while she rides him, taking it slowly when she knows he wants it fast. The cold air and excitement harden her nipples, and she licks her fingers and swirls them around the taut flesh so they glisten in the dim light, growing harder still, a little show to taunt and frustrate him. Eventually he cottons on and starts to tease her clit with his thumb, withholding the exquisite friction when she slows down until she has no choice but to give in. She collapses on his chest, laughing, when it's over, and gives him a light slap on the side. "Don't do that again," she says. "That's not fair."

"Look who's talking," he says, his sleepy voice glutted with satisfaction.

***

For the next five days, they can barely keep their hands off one another. Bill arranges for a few days off from Gringotts, and they spend their time christening every room of the cottage. An early cup of coffee while brooding over the view of the sea through the cottage's picture window turns into a rough fuck from behind, bent over the back of the sofa with Bill's fist curled in her hair, pulling hard to keep her head from drooping. A nap in front of the fire leads to a blowjob that awakens Bill with a gasp, leaving him hissing obscenities when she presses her fingers into the sensitive spot behind his balls. A hot shower meant to ease their sore muscles sees Ginny pressed face first into the tiled wall, wet hair plastered against her shoulders and Bill's cock sliding deep into her arse, slicked with charmed lube the water can't wash away. Now that they're finally together, they just can't get enough of one another. It's like they're on their honeymoon.

They never mention Harry's name. Nor Fleur's. They talk about the family, about Bill's work, about Ginny's frustrations with the manager of the Harpies. Sometimes Bill talks about being a father and his hopes for Victoire's future. Much of the time, they don't talk at all. When she stops to think about it, which isn't often, it comes as a surprise to realize how easy it's been to put Harry out of her mind these past few days. Hours go by when she doesn't even think about him, and somehow this doesn't seem strange to her at all.

She excuses herself discreetly every evening around seven o'clock, when Fleur's nightly fire call is due. Bill and his wife talk while Ginny waits quietly in the bedroom, a pillow pressed over her ears so the only thing she hears is the baritone thrum of his voice, the staccato bursts of his laughter. This is the worst time of the day for her, not just because of the separation but because it's a reminder that they both have other lives, other responsibilities, and their time together is short. But then the call is over and Bill is back in bed with her, lying prone between her spread legs, sucking her clit until she screams, and she forgets about it all over again.

On Friday, they're awakened by a sharp _tap tap tap_ on the bedroom window. Bill stumbles out of bed and opens it, and a shivering owl jumps through and shakes its burden of snow onto Bill's bare feet. Ginny recognizes it with a sinking heart.

"Hello, Gunnar," she says, pulling the blanket up higher on her chest against the frigid air blowing in from the sea. The bird bobs its head in greeting. A few short hops and it's on the bed in front of her, one leg sticking straight out. There's a message tied there, tightly rolled and marked with the distinctive "HP" seal. She knows what it's going to say without having to read it.

They make love one more time, slowly, more slowly than they ever have before, making it last. When they're done, they work together to erase every sign of her presence in the cottage. One final kiss and she apparates away, dry-eyed. It feels like it should be an ending, but in her heart she knows it isn't.

He's her brother. He'll always be part of her life.

***

"Mum," Al says, tugging on Ginny's sleeve. "Uncle Bill is looking for you."

Ginny hangs the last of the ornaments on the Christmas tree and turns to smile at her son. "How's that look?" she says, wiping her dusty hands on her jeans.

"Brilliant! Can I put the angel on?"

Ginny hoists the little boy up in her arms and holds him up as high as she can reach, arms trembling slightly, though not from the strain. Al giggles and squirms happily, leaning so far forward to skewer the angel on the uppermost branch of the tree that Ginny nearly overbalances and sends them both sprawling. The angel is crooked when Ginny sets him back on his feet, but she can fix it later. "Where's Uncle Bill, then?" she says.

"Out in the shed. He said he has something to show you."

Ginny starts closing up the boxes that had held the Christmas decorations. She can't look Al in the eye just now. "Okay," she says. "Where's Dad?"

"The whole family's waiting out front. We're all going to Hogsmeade to do some Christmas shopping. Wanna come?"

"No, you go on along. I promised Gran I'd finish decorating the house."

"Okay." Al gives her a quick one-armed hug and scampers away just as Harry pokes his head through the kitchen door.

"You coming, Gin?" he asks, pulling on a pair of gloves, and when she shakes her head he says, "All right. We'll be back in a few hours."

She sits for a good long time after they're gone, alone in the quiet, empty house, listening to the ticking of the grandfather clock. Her heart races as she waits, spinning out the anticipation until she can't stand even one more second, making sure everyone is well and truly gone before rising unsteadily to her feet and hurrying outside. This is an annual tradition now, this stolen time with Bill. A Christmas present she gives to herself; the only gift she doesn't have to pretend to like. She hasn't allowed herself to think about him as anything but her older brother since this time last year. She's been too busy with the kids, with her job, with Harry, to do otherwise. She'd spoken with Bill on his birthday, then again on hers. They'd seen each other at the surprise party she, Hermione, and Angelina had planned for Mum and Dad's anniversary. And that was it. The rest of the year she'd lived her life, and he had lived his.

But now it's time, again. Finally. It's time.

He's already cast the necessary warding spells. She can tell by the faint shimmer of magic pulsing around the edges of the door, the blackened windows that allow no glimpse of the shed's interior. She slips inside, closing the door and sealing it shut, casting her clothes aside as she moves across the room. He's already naked, lying on a transfigured mattress in the middle of the floor, stroking his cock slowly with an oiled fist. Two heartbeats later it's in her mouth, slipping back into her throat while his tongue jabs frenziedly at her clit.

They manage three hard fucks before the family returns, thanks to the potion that doubles as lube. The first time she's on her back, legs wrapped tight around Bill's waist, hips snapping up to meet his sharp downward thrusts. The second time he's on his back, knees bent and pelvis arched so he can buck up hard with every stroke. The third she's on her knees with her head and shoulders pressed to the mattress, arse in the air while he fucks her from behind. He guides her back onto his cock with one hand on her hip; the other is splayed across her lower back with the thumb jammed deep in her arse.

Harry doesn't fuck her like this. No one else ever has.

Later, at dinner, Bill becomes her brother again. He sits between his wife and his daughter, laughing at one of George's jokes as he passes the basket of dinner rolls along. Her muscles are tender and it's hard to sit still, but when Harry presses his hand into hers, she clasps it in her lap with a smile meant only for him.

***

Lily is just moments away from bursting into tears. Harry tries to soothe her with a placating hand on her shoulder, but her lower lip juts dangerously as she glares at Ginny with overly bright eyes.

"All the other girls are staying here," she whines. "Why can't I?"

Ginny sighs. The rooms of Shell Cottage are ringing with the laughter of Victoire's friends. A last minute emergency with the fit of one girl's dress has finally been fixed to Fleur's satisfaction, and now they've moved on to the complex problem of matching up jewelry and shoes.

"It's just too crowded here, sweetheart," Ginny says patiently for the third time. "All the beds are taken."

"I could sleep on the floor." Lily's petulant tone is starting to grate on Ginny's nerves.

"You'd never be able to sleep," Ginny says. "You don't want to miss out on the party because you can't keep your eyes open, do you?"

"But I'm a bridesmaid, too!" Lily says, stamping her foot. The tears begin to flow, and she shrugs off Harry's hand, facing Ginny squarely with her jaw set. "It's not fair!"

Ginny glances at Harry for help, but he looks back with a hopeless expression on his face. Discipline has never been Harry's strong suit, and even less so with his only daughter. Once again it's up to her, and she'd better figure out a way to throw cold water on this spark quickly or it will roar into a flame that could consume them all.

"Hey, what's going on over here?" Bill says jovially, stepping into their circle. He tweaks Lily gently on the ear, and she twists away and crosses her arms in a huff as Harry explains the situation. Bill nods, looking thoughtful, then crouches down so he's on a level with Lily. "Tell you what," he says as Lily swipes a hand across one splotchy, wet cheek. "You can sleep in my bed, with Aunt Fleur. Would you like that? I'll kip on the floor."

Lily stops crying abruptly. "Oh, you don't have to do that," Ginny says at once, but Lily has already thrown her arms around Bill's neck. He hugs her back, laughing, and she skips away without giving either of her parents a second look.

"I don't mind," Bill says, straightening up. "I'm about as useful around here as feathers on a clabbert anyway."

"Your own daughter's wedding?" Harry says skeptically. His eyes are following Lily's progress across the room, and Ginny knows he's thinking about what it will be like when it's his turn to play father of the bride. "You don't mean that."

Bill shrugs. "I just pay the bills," he says, but there's no bitterness in his voice. "Fleur and Victoire have done everything else."

"Well, listen," Harry replies. "We have loads of room at Grimmauld Place. Why don't you stay with us tonight?"

"Oh no, I can't –"

"Sure you can," Harry says. "No sense in you sleeping on the floor when we've got half a dozen empty rooms at our place." He turns to Ginny. "Right, Gin?"

Ginny and Bill very carefully avoid looking at one another. She wants to say yes. He is her eldest brother, after all, and his daughter is marrying Harry's godson in the morning. He's just done them a huge favor. He deserves a decent night's sleep.

It would be a nice thing to do, she tells herself. The right thing to do.

But it feels so very _wrong_.

When she finally looks at Bill, she sees her doubt reflected in his eyes.

"Thanks anyway, Harry," Bill says. "I'll be just fine here. I don't want to miss anything. My daughter's wedding day..."

But Harry shakes his head. "I insist," he replies firmly. "You can be back here at the crack of dawn if you like. The only thing you'll miss is watching the girls sleep."

Fleur calls Ginny's name just then, and she turns away reluctantly, insides clenching with icy hot apprehension. By the time she's finished dealing with the hem of Lily's dress, the decision has already been made.

***

Everything might have been all right if Harry hadn't had so much to drink. He insists on making toast after toast to Teddy at dinner that night, and he's never had much of a head for Firewhisky to begin with. By the time dinner's over, he's so deep in his cups that he kisses the red-haired waitress, calls her by Ginny's name, and makes a thoroughly inappropriate remark that sends the blood rushing into the poor girl's face. She whirls and slaps him hard across the face, and Mum and Dad have to do some fast talking to smooth things over with the owner of the restaurant, who also happens to be the waitress's father. Ron and Hermione haul Harry out of the restaurant between them, one of his arms slung heavily around each of their shoulders, while the other patrons sit sniggering behind their hands.

"Make sure he drinks this before the wedding," Teddy pleads, slipping a small bottle of hangover relief potion into Ginny's hand. "Please?"

Now he's asleep, sprawled out across the mattress where Ron and Hermione had poured him hours earlier, still fully-dressed with his glasses askew on his face. He's snoring so loudly Ginny's amazed he isn't doing himself an injury. An attempt to roll him over fails miserably; he might as well be made of lead.

She lies stiffly in the dark beside him for a very long time, willing the noise to stop, trying not to think about the room just down the corridor that's usually empty but tonight is not. She dips one hand between her legs and can feel the heat building there through the thin fabric of her nightgown. It's so late. They have to be up in a few hours to get ready for the wedding. She needs to get some sleep.

She slips the hand inside her knickers, slides the length of her index finger across the slippery hood of her clit. She could be asleep right now if she really wanted to be, she realizes with a start. The little bottle of hangover relief potion now gleaming in the moonlight on Harry's bedside table is not the only bottle of potion in the house. There's a reason she's chosen to stay awake.

Bill awakens the moment the door clicks shut behind her. She's in bed next to him before he can speak, smothering whatever protest he might try to mount with hard, open-mouthed kisses. She gropes between his legs, cupping her hand around his cock, stroking the shaft until it's thick and hard against her fingers.

"We shouldn't," he breathes as she rolls onto her back to shuck off her knickers. "Not with Harry in the house." It's a token objection, and they both know it. His fingers find her nipple as he's saying it, and he pinches it through her nightgown.

She pulls the knickers free of her foot and tosses them over the side of the bed. "Shut up," she whispers back, straddling his waist. "Just shut up and fuck me."

He does what she asks. Hard, and fast, like the first time they did it, like every time they do it. She can't help the high, soft sounds of pleasure she makes with every stroke, the little moans from deep in her throat every time he grunts. The bedsprings squeak as he grinds up into her, palming her arse cheeks and spreading them wide to stroke her arsehole with the tips of his fingers. It's enough, more than enough, and she squeezes her eyes shut tight and lets her breath out in an explosive burst that makes the hair hanging in her face fly in all directions.

"You'd better go," he says later. She's lying beneath him now, pinned against the mattress by the weight of his leg draped across her thighs. He's nuzzling her breast through the sheer fabric of her nightgown, kissing the rounded curves of it, brushing the nipple with the side of his thumb. "I have to get home."

"Okay," she replies, but instead of pushing him away she guides his hand up under the nightgown and sighs her satisfaction into his neck.

"I mean it," he says even later, his breath coming in short spurts. This time she doesn't answer him, just nods and arches her back, whimpering uncontrollably while he drives two fingers in and out of her cunt.

The sky outside their window is just starting to pinken when Ginny finally manages to get out of his bed. She stands on her tiptoes to kiss Bill one last time, then watches as he hurriedly pulls his clothes on and apparates away. She can hear Kreacher downstairs in the kitchen as she slips away down the corridor, mumbling to himself as he prepares the family's breakfast. James and Al will be up soon. She hopes Harry will be able to get through the day in one piece.

There's a light burning in their bedroom. Ginny sees it as soon as she rounds the corner, and it brings her up short. The door is slightly ajar, and the corridor glows with the light from within. Her heart palpitates, thrumming unevenly in her chest. Something is terribly wrong.

"Ginny?"

Harry sounds wide awake. His voice is devoid of inflection, but he's definitely awake and alert. Teddy's potion has done its work. For one wild moment, she seriously considers apparating away on the spot, or turning and running back in the direction from which she came, but then the door is wide open and Harry is huge in the doorway. His face has no color in it at all.

 _He knows._ Her heart plummets into the pit of her stomach as the realization hits home. He must have awakened some time during the night, maybe to use the loo, or with the intention of waking Bill so he could get back to Shell Cottage and not miss a moment of Victoire's wedding day. He might have called her name, wondering where she was when she didn't respond. He would have decided to look for her, checking the boys' rooms first, fearful that one or the other of them was sick or had had a bad dream. When he didn't find her there, he would have wandered on down the corridor, perhaps intending to go downstairs to check the sitting room, maybe the library, thinking he'd find her curled up with a book.

But then he would have heard the sounds coming from Bill's room, the rhythmic creaking of the bedsprings, the unmistakable sounds that are the same ones she makes when Harry makes love to her. He might have stood right outside Bill's room, one ear pressed to the door, mind racing furiously to come up with an alternative explanation – _any_ explanation would do – for what he was hearing. And when he finally realized no other explanation was possible, part of him would have died right there in the corridor.

Harry's a good man. A decent man. He's been a good husband, a good father. A good friend. Ginny loves him; she always has. And never more so than right now, at this very moment, when she's about to lose him forever.

They look at each other without speaking. Ginny flirts with the idea of spinning an outrageous lie, but just as quickly realizes there's no point. Her knickers are still on the floor in Bill's bedroom.

"Harry," she says. "Please."

She knows later there will be anger, from everyone. There will be tears and recriminations, hatred and shouting, slamming doors and stomping feet. There will be endless, crushing guilt. It's the end of everything she has ever known.

But for now there's only silence.

Harry closes the door.

***

Feel free to comment either here or on the [LJ post](http://gmth.livejournal.com/382763.html) for this fic. Thanks!


End file.
